


Love and Weakness | abandoned but will keep up

by natalianovna



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/F, Female-Centric, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, POV Natasha Romanov, Panic Attacks, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Sub Wanda Maximoff, Telepathic Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, idkwhatimdoing, sendhelp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalianovna/pseuds/natalianovna
Summary: Natasha had been taught that love was weakness; a liability. And so it was never something she concerned herself with...until Wanda.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw//mentions of rape  
uhhhh idk what i'm doing  
pls comment feedback of whatever  
send help lmao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda gets inside Natasha's head.

She had been taught that love was weakness. That love only put more people in harm’s way. That love was silly, trivial nonsense for children who did not know better.

On some level, Natasha knew this to be untrue. Or rather, had been slowly taught that it was untrue. In the way Clint looked at Laura and his children. The way Peggy had completely altered Steve’s life. Hell, she was almost positive she saw it in the way Wanda looked at her.

Yet for the most part, she tried to ignore this. Peggy and Laura and Pepper and everyone else were liabilities to their so-called lovers. They slowed them down, made them worry about whether or not they were coming home for dinner. Love made them weak. And weakness was never something Natalia Romanova concerned herself with.

Madame B. had drilled that into her head from a young age. She had no place in the world, and yet she was never to be weak. Submit only when it plays to your advantage. Allow people to manipulate you, hurt you, because they will end up dead in the end and you won’t. Be deadly. Be numb. Be perfect.

And so she was. Although her years with the Avengers had allowed her to bring some of her walls down, hundreds still stood. Thousands. Every movement of her muscles were carefully planned. Her emotions would not be betrayed by something so foolish as an expression. Each word had a purpose.

This was precisely why Wanda Maximoff utterly perplexed her. With Wanda, she had to work to keep her barriers up. Because with just one word, just one touch, Wanda could bring those walls tumbling down.

Natasha tried to convince herself that this was just a foolish little game. Wanda was becoming another one of her marks. It was obvious Wanda had been, well, checking her out. Clint’s raised eyebrows behind her back whenever they were all in the same room eliminated Natasha’s doubts of that. Sure, Wanda was conventionally attractive. But whatever. Plenty of people were.

And yeah, maybe Wanda did know more about her than maybe anyone else currently living. But Steve was to blame for that. He had made sure Natasha was there to train Wanda, every day. Even when Wanda got frustrated and started getting in her head. Saw things that Natasha was perfectly happy if no one else knew. The days settled into a new routine. Train with Wanda in the morning. Sleep even less at night because of the memories Wanda brought forth in Natasha’s mind. End up curled on the kitchen counter with a mug of tea at 3am when Wanda could stumble in hyperventilating and Natasha would have to deal with it. Every. Day.

“Here we go again,” Natasha muttered under her breath as she walked into the room to spar with Wanda yet again.

“Hey, Nat!” Wanda chirped, wandering eyes flitting between Natasha’s lips and chest. Natasha just rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t Wanda have chosen someone else to be all happy and perky around?

Wanda was improving, Natasha would give her that. She could hit harder and was quicker on her feet. She thought fast and reacted even faster. Her use of her powers was becoming less of an emergency reflex. Natasha had her down, pinned to the mat, when her eyes clouded over.

Smoke. Fire. Coughing. Blood. Screams and cries and gunshots. Perfectly pointed toes, balancing en pointe, spinning faster and faster and faster. Utter perfection. Being hit. Being left bruised and bloodied in the middle of the night. Her hands handcuffed to the bedposts. Madame B. towering over her as she screamed. Watching as her body was brutalised, as hips snapped against hers, as she sobbed. As she surrendered. As she learned to take it over and over, to use it to her advantage. Getting down on her knees to get what she wanted. Countless kills. Rivers of blood. Snapped necks. Dead children. The hatred so deep it ate her alive, the monster she knew herself to be.

And then it was over. Natasha was curled in a ball on the mat, Wanda standing over her sobbing. Natasha gave herself precisely three seconds. Deep breath, open and close her eyes. Stood up and walked out, leaving the sobbing girl in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh i'm sorry?  
okay great bye  
did this completely suck (ik it does but uh)?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha decides to try to fix things with Wanda. It goes both exactly as planned and completely off the rails.

It had been five days since what Natasha had dubbed “the incident” had occurred. She hadn’t gone to training since. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. Had chained one arm to the bed. Had fallen back into old habits.

She hadn’t known she had it in her to be rattled by something of this nature any longer. It wasn’t as though she didn’t see the exact same things in her dreams every night. If she had to guess, it had more to do with the fact that Wanda knew even more about her now. Before, she’d managed to exercise some control over what the girl had seen. Mostly just kills. Not even the bad ones. But this... 

Wanda knew so much. Too much. Something had to be done about that. The grand total of the two times the two women had passed one another in the days following, Wanda had desperately tried to get Natasha’s attention, eyes probing her for some sort of acknowledgement. Natasha had paid no heed. 

So somehow, at some ungodly hour of the morning as Natasha sat awake in her quarters, watching the horrors play out before her eyes, she decided to talk to Wanda. Because why the hell not? It was by this point clear Wanda wanted both a talk and a fuck. She could give her one. It would be something to do. Besides, Wanda had already seen that side of Natasha.

Bare feet padding soundlessly through the compound, Natasha knocked only once on Wanda’s door before a reply came. “Nat?”

“Yeah.”

“Come in.”

Wanda was curled up in the corner of her bed, staring blankly at a Harry Potter book. “What’s up?” she asked, barely even looking up. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy or whatever.” The tone of sarcasm is clear.

“Did Clint tell you to say that?”

“Duh.”

“So he noticed something was off?”

“You weren’t showing up to training and you’ve hardly left your quarters for the past week. It was obvious something was a bit off with you,” her voice softens, allowing vulnerability to seep in. “It’s my fault.” She says it not like a question, but a statement. “I am sorry. I can’t really control it.”

“It’s fine, little witch. Nothing I don’t already see on my own.”

“What happened...I knew it was bad. That was something else.”

“Did I scare you?” Natasha is unable to keep the tiniest trace of a mocking tone out of her voice, hoping that Wanda won’t pick up on it.

“Yes,” Wanda whispers. “But for what it’s worth, you are not a monster.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and laughed, praying for the conversation to end. This was a horrible idea, coming here. Emotions are not her strong suit.

Wanda keeps talking. “You are gorgeous, and you are strong, and you are funny, and fuck I just really want to kiss you because you are absolutely perfect and god what am I doing...you’re probably never going to look at me again after all this but…”

Natasha leans forward and kisses her, lips hard against Wanda’s. Pushing her down onto the bed, Natasha keeps kissing her, tongue grazing over the tips of Wanda’s teeth. Just another mission, she tells herself. Just another person to pleasure and never give a second thought.

Natasha’s hands roam down, tracing over Wanda’s hips and down onto her thighs, running fingers over the inside. Dipping her hand beneath the waistband of the witch’s shorts and teasingly running her fingers over all that lay beneath. “Please,” Wanda moaned, stars dancing before her eyes. 

Pulling Wanda’s skimpy shorts and underwear off, Natasha pushes herself further onto her, fingers grazing the edges of Wanda’s warm, damp center. Fingertips moving over her clit, teasing just the lightest circles around it. Wanda gasps into Natasha’s mouth, giving Natasha just a split second pause. Natasha never felt anything when doing this before. Why is this time any different? Why does Wanda’s pleasure elicit things in her she didn’t know were possible? If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t know if she’s even capable of love, only lust. And this sure as hell is nothing more than pure lust. 

Natasha slides down, tongue sliding up through Wanda’s folds, feeling the witch coming undone beneath her. She draws circles over Wanda’s clit, further teasing her. Wanda’s keening moans cut through the room, hips bucking up, toward Natasha. Begging, needing, craving more. Her hands curled around the sheet, clasping onto them for dear life as Natasha worked some kind of magic on her. 

Natasha willed her mind to go completely blank, to put all her focus on the task at hand and not at the desire building within her. What she’d give to have this done to her by the witch beneath her. And yet at the same time, horrors dance at the corners of her memory, every sound coming from Wanda reminding her of times she’d give anything to be forever gone from memory. Her hair being grabbed. Forced down. 

Natasha sucked hard, pushing Wanda over the edge, eliciting moans from her that very nearly pushed Natasha over the edge as well. Not now, she told herself sternly. “Holy…” Wanda murmured under her breath, hips bucking, moans escaping her lips as Natasha continued until the witch had completely come down. 

Collapsing beside Wanda, Natasha took a deep breath and smirked, hoping the dark would conceal her expression. Now that had been fun. Wanda laid her head down on Natasha’s shoulder, breathing hard, becoming more even with every moment. Within minutes, sleep has her in its grasp.

Natasha sat and slipped from the room silently, not even daring to breathe. Panic rolled in, replacing whatever last shreds of ecstasy and excitement remained. She bit down hard on her lip until a metallic tang filled her mouth. “What have I done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes.  
i shit on my work constantly let's establish that  
yeet


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha hates how her thoughts drift at night, when she's at her most vulnerable. Vulnerability; the thing she hates above most else. Running into Clint doesn't do much good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw//sort of mention of self harm?? not really but just to be safe

And so it was back to the silly little game of avoiding Wanda. It was all so stupid. Why couldn’t she just talk to her like a normal person instead of creeping around the compound to ensure that running into the witch was impossible?

But of course, Natasha reflected, nothing was ever normal. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, she went back the love or lust debate. Was she capable of actually loving? Having genuine feelings toward someone?

She hated this kind of vulnerability, the kind that made her want to completely shut down so thinking about it would become impossible. This sort of thing forced her to think about herself and what she wanted, something she hated to do. 

Remembering the horrors she had caused was one thing. She could reflect back on that alone, in the dead of night. To some extent, she had managed to separate herself from it, recalling the events and actions in a purely cool and calculating manor. Remember them as they happened, stripped of all emotion, carried out because she had no other choice. 

She deserved all those sleepless nights. Despite whatever Clint and the rest tried to convince her of, she knew that she was simply paying the price for what she had done. The burning hatred, contempt, she had for herself was necessary. It was then, in the dead of night, that she became completely unraveled, bore the full weight of her actions as they suffocated her. Not that she would ever admit that to everyone. 

She was the Black Widow. Silent. Deadly. Femme fatale if necessary. Cold. Emotionless. Wanda had stirred so much shit up in Natasha’s head, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to hate the witch for it. So why could one girl make her want to say everything she had ever thought? Why had Wanda Maximoff found her way into Natasha’s dreams that past night, causing her to awake with a sense of wanting?

Was this her answer? Was she truly capable of love? Or did she just want to get fucked? Because that was an easy solution. 

Yes, she decided. She just wanted to get laid, quick and easy. Satisfy whatever she wanted or whatever bullshit this was.

She’s suddenly aware of something warm trickling down her left arm and hitting her pillow. “Shit.” As her mind raced, she was subconsciously struggling against the handcuff on one wrist, keeping her bound to the bed. Old habits. At least its not both wrists anymore. It’s almost funny that this is what she goes to. Almost. 

Reaching over with her other hand, she grabs the key and uncuffs herself, trying to keep more blood from falling onto her sheets. Flipping on a lamp, she sighs. It’s not a very deep cut, just annoying. One of those that bleeds a lot without actually being all that bad. 

Grabbing a towel and pressing hard on her wrist, she grabs a book and leaves her quarters. Sleep is no longer on the agenda. If she’s being honest with herself, it never really was. She’s not afraid of her dreams, no, not quite afraid. Just...would rather not have to deal with them. 

She curls up on a couch in one of the many living spaces in the compound and opens her book, only to laugh in disgust. She accidentally picked up her old journal, one she was “highly encouraged” to keep in the early days after defecting to the states. She had taken out when she was going through her belongings earlier in the day, and hadn’t gotten around to putting it far out of sight. 

“Might as well read it,” she mutters under her breath. “How bad could it be?”

And yet she can’t quite bring herself to read it, only to stare blankly at the first page, tiny writing filling the paper. She just stares for over an hour, mind drifting, always ending up standing on a snowbank, gun pointed at a child. Frozen in that moment. She sees the scene from her own perspective, the child shaking in the cold, begging, sobbing, pleading, screaming. She is watching from far away, watching herself, barely older than twelve or thirteen, stare coolly upon him. Not an ounce of emotion in those stone-cold eyes. She does not care for his pain, or at least shows no indication.

It’s another one of those memories Wanda pulled up from the murky depths; added colour to the fading picture. Sharpened the image to horrifying clarity. “Monster,” Natasha whispers sharply, nails digging into her forearm, nose wrinkling in disgust.

And because it’s him, Clint takes that exact moment to stride into the room, bright eyes fading to concern as her takes in the scene; the word hanging in the air, the bloodstained, or rather, blood soaked, rag on Natasha’s wrist, her vacant eyes, nails digging into her forearm. “Nat…” he mutters, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Shit. It’s not what it looks like.” She’s gotten sloppy when it comes to hiding this stuff, she knows that. But this is bad. Like, really bad. 

He simply raises his eyebrows. 

“Jesus Christ, Clint, I’m fine. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, that one doesn’t work on me anymore. You can only use that a certain number of times.”

“I didn’t…”

“Sure.”

“I swear on whatever holy bullshit you believe in, I didn’t. Not anymore.”

“Nat, I’m just worried. That’s all. You’ve locked yourself in your room for a fortnight. You clearly haven’t slept. And for what it’s worth, neither has Wanda.”

At the mention of her name, Natasha’s lips turn upward, if only for a millisecond. Perhaps only a trick of the light. “Clint, please. I can take care of myself.”

“FRIDAY, when was the last time she slept?”

“FRIDAY, don’t you dare…!”

“Last Wednesday, Agent Barton.”

“Damn you, FRIDAY,” Natasha scowls.

“Additionally, you might find it interesting that she has been handcuffing her left wrist to her bed every night.”

“FRIDAY!!”

Clint looks at Natasha, lips pursed, eyebrows reaching spectacular heights.

“I’m fine. Like I said, I can deal with myself.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried around.”

Standing and grabbing her old journal, Natasha makes for the door, only to turn at the last moment. “I’ll find you if I need you. But for now, I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

Practically shouting after her, Clint clenches his fists. “Natalia…”

“Low blow. Fuck you, Agent Barton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh we getting angsty here  
hate how much fun i'm having writing nat and clint fighting but whatever haha


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is spiraling, fast and hard. All because of Wanda and Clint. And "Natalia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // self harm !!!!  
kinda graphic, please be careful and be safe

Smoke practically rising from her ears, Natasha storms from the common room, not even bothering to hide the furious tears streaming down her cheeks. That was the thing with Clint; he was her best friend, the one she could always count on, yet he didn’t quite know boundaries. When she just needed a little space to work things out on her own. 

His prying was something she typically managed to shake off. She could lie, or give an inkling of the truth, and he would usually be satisfied. This time was different. It had been years since Clint had walked in on her in a...situation. Every time any sort of thoughts crossed her head, she could just see his face that one time. It wasn’t anger, but something worse. A cross between disappointment and anger, perhaps a bit of frustration. It stung like all hell, and was something she had no desire to lay eyes upon again. Yet there it was again just a few moments ago, until the anger had swept in and made the situation a thousand times worse.

This was exactly why Natasha was wary of the concept of care. Caring about someone, going so far as to love them, was only a liability. Her issues were affecting Clint and Wanda, and that knowledge was unbearable. And although it was her issues that had kicked off this whole shitshow in the first place, the situation was, to an extent, out of her control. She could go try to talk with Clint. And probably Wanda, too. Yet she couldn’t. Emotions were not her strong suit, hence her less-than-healthy coping mechanisms. 

She winces as she walks into her quarters, slamming the door behind her and making a beeline for the bathroom. Leading her palms against the cool stone of the counter, she glares at herself in the mirror. “You fucking stupid whore!” she whispers at herself, the words biting, embedding themselves in the skin of the girl staring back and her. Hot tears flood down her cheeks, and now that the floodgates have opened, she cannot close them. “You’re weak. You’re pathetic. Cut yourself open and just be done with it.”

Staring at herself, with those puffy eyes and red cheeks, Natasha bites hard on her lip. She should’ve been smarter. Known that the moment Wanda got inside her head, she should’ve gotten the hell away. At least for a little while. Because now here she was, truly crying for the first time in god knows how long, fantasizing about things she’d sworn to never do again, having possibly destroyed her friendship with the one person she thought would always stand by her. All because of Wanda. Fucking. Maximoff. The pretty girl with the nice hair and terrifying abilities that Natasha had gotten down on her knees for because she had no idea how else to handle what she felt towards the witch. 

That destroyed her. Made the fury burning in her chest hotter and heavier. Angry at herself. Angry at Wanda. Angry at Clint. Angry at love. Angry at the people who had taken her and turned her into whatever monster was staring back from behind the glass. It was their fault, really, that all this was happening. That she wasn’t living some happy little life in Russia in a cottage with a nice husband, maybe even a kid or two running around. It hit her, for the thousandth time, just how much they had taken from her. 

It wasn’t just the foolish sentimental things the Americans placed so much emphasis upon; all those firsts she never had, and some she’d had too early, in all the wrong ways. No, those were of little importance. It was her future that had been taken from her. She had been beaten and robbed blind, and when she could finally see again she had no idea who she was. 

The lack of identity ate away at her, as she’d once confessed to Clint. She has no idea how to describe herself, aside from meaningless external traits and shallow adjectives. Those years in which she was meant to be forming her own identity, come into herself, had been spent learning how to be invisible. How to play whatever damn part she needed for a particular mission. How to shed her skin like a snake. Sure, that played to her advantage sometimes. She despised it, though, the constant question of “Who is Natasha Romanoff?” The lack of answers drove her mad, she’d whispered to him. 

Clint had just sat there and looked into her eyes, with such compassion and understanding and sorrow. It was one of the few times she could truly understand why having someone care about you wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. God, she wants to talk to him. It’s weak and useless to wish for him to be here, to be able to sob into his shoulder, but she wants it. And that wanting makes her stomach clench in fury, the hatred she feels toward herself reach a boiling point. 

It would come to this eventually, so why not speed up the process? Clint thought she’d already done it. Might as well prove him right. Reaching into a drawer, she pulls out a razor blade and stares at it, gears turning behind her eyes. Swollen, bloodshot eyes stare at the shiny blade, face expressionless. She has no more tears to cry. 

Sinking the blade into the flesh of her thigh, just below where her shorts falls, she smirks, a twisted, terrifying expression of ecstasy and pain, desperation and delight. Pulling it across her skin, she barely even blinks, and within seconds, blood runs down her thigh, skating over old scars and burns. Over and over and over until her head is spinning and another rag is blood soaked. 

After hiding the blade where she is sure no one can find it, she puts another rag on her leg and changes into sweatpants, hiding what she had just done. “Shit shit shit shit,” she whispers, reality sinking it. 

“Look at you, Natalia, fucking spiraling. Like a weakling,” she whispers back at herself, tone mocking and cold. “They sure as hell were right about some things, weren’t they. That’s funny.”

Natalia is dangerous. Natalia will go out and murder in cold blood for fun, because that’s what she has been trained to do. Natalia will cut herself open and laugh. Natalia has been through hell, making her furious and bitter, fueling her dangerous rampages. She is quick, deadly, and effective. Everything she was forced to be. Her ledger runs red, dripping enough blood to create another ocean. 

Whenever she is called by that name, bad things happen. She thinks Clint calling her that earlier had definitely messed with her head. Natalia was who she once was. She is no longer that girl, and wants so desperately (most of the time) to never be again. 

Natasha has worked so hard to separate herself from that person, to be different. And yet here she is, talking to herself like a crazy person, trying so hard not to slip back into the girl the Red Room created. In all honesty, it was, in some ways, easier to be Natalia. There came a point where the kills had no effect. Where she had become the perfect killing robot, capable of carrying out anything. She simply told her conscious to shut the fuck up and slit her wrists every time some sense of morality decided to rear its head. Natalia is someone, some sense of identity, a monster swimming up from the depths to test the air for the first time in a while. Natalia and Natasha are one and the same, all the while being two separate entities. 

She is spiraling, faster and harder than she has in a very long time. She is alone and desperate and afraid. Natasha doesn’t know what to do, and all because of Wanda. That stupid freaking witch fucked her up. She blames Wanda. She blames herself. “What am I going to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely didn't just have a small mental breakdown through nat nope definitely not   
this is getting out of control but whatever it's fun


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha can't keep fighting herself. But she has friends. Friends that want to be there for her even when she doesn't want them there for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // blood  
as always be safe  
i'm trying to update as often as i can but shit's been happening :/  
bare with me pls+thx

Groaning, Natasha lifts her head from the damp blanket, wet with her tears and streaks of blood. She is curled in the corner of her room, drifting off for only seconds at a time before snapping back to reality. All she wants is to just sleep forever and forget everything. Forget that one little feeling had set off this whole chain of catastrophic events. 

That’s how it always was with her; one thing happened, and then it was as if the floodgates had opened. All the, for lack of a better term, bad shit she had even seen or done or had happen to her came flooding back. There was no stopping it. Yet it had been a while since she had spiraled out of control like this. And even then, she’d always had Clint there by her side. Something was up with him. He had seemed angry, and short with her. That wasn’t the Clint she knew.

Sighing, she pulls herself up and grabbing her blanket, she pads soundlessly through the halls of the compound. Glancing at a clock as she passes, she rolls her eyes. Somehow only just past five in the morning. So much had happened. “If only I could go back just two hours, do all this over…”

She opens a door and steps outside, walking across the grass until she comes to a tree, all low-hanging branches and shady leaves, creating a sort of hiding place. Curling up against the tree, sweatshirt pulled over her hands, she breathes out a sigh of...relief? She has no idea. 

Feeling anything, let alone knowing what she feels, has always been a challenge. Since they took her and fucked with her head. No. Don’t go there. She can’t spiral anymore. She’s afraid she’ll hurt someone else, not just herself. That paralyzing fear of being a danger to not only herself but to the people around her. The people that care about her. And that is utterly terrifying.

Tears slip down her cheeks, salty and cool. These couldn’t be more different from the hot, furious tears she had shed earlier. These are cleansing. Pouring out all the hurt and pain, letting the water make her new again. Her ragged breathing begins to calm, slowing down to a pace that doesn’t make her eyes see black around the edges and her head spin from lack of oxygen. 

Finally, as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, Natasha falls asleep, eyelids barely closed. Ready to attack, to defend herself, at a moment’s notice.

Her fingers are blistered and painful, cut open in a hundred places. She gazes down at her legs, one of which is split off cleanly at the knee, the other of which is gushing blood, her toes turning blue, and then black. 

It’s not her body, but that of a young girl. Her dying breaths are faint but filled with terror, with pain. A knife rests in Natasha’s hand, dripping in blood, turning the ground beneath them red, so much red. 

Rivers running red, blood pouring through the earth until there is nothing left but a sea of crimson blood. It screams, the sound pure and agonizing and terrifying, gurgling up from underneath. It turns into Natasha’s scream as she feels bullets rip through her chest, catching her completely by surprise. So sloppy on her part, to not see them. Her own blood falls into the sea. She is powerless to do anything but watch as she bleeds out. 

And now her blood is falling on the floor of a pristine ballet studio, thousands of eyes glaring out at her from behind the mirror as blood drips down her arms, legs, torso, every drop hitting the ground with what seems to be earth-shattering booms. The eyes glare, judging, critiquing, criticizing. She was not good enough. She will never be good enough.

“You have no place in this world.” 

Suddenly, there is a hand on her shoulder, and she is grabbing the wrist, twisting it, squeezing it, as the owner grunts. She is on top of a body, wrestling it to the ground, pinning it down so it cannot hurt her. 

“Nat?” The voice seems so distorted as it penetrates the deepest layers of her brain, as though it were spoken up from the depths of the sea.

Seas of red. So much red. The screams of pain from the depths. All her fault. Her fault.

“Natasha?”

She can’t move. Won’t move. Won’t answer to her name. “Natalia, get up. This weakness, it is no good. The pain will make you strong.”

“Natasha!” 

She is curled on the ground, hands gripping her wrists, grounding her. It stings the cuts made by the handcuffs, but she doesn’t even blink. Blue eyes and dirty blond hair swim into focus, blood dripping from the nose, bruising already beginning to form around one eye. 

“Natasha. Talk to me.”

She can’t move, can’t speak. Frozen on the ground even once he releases his grasp on her wrists. She curls up even further into a ball, expecting...something. Some sort of pain, a punishment for her behaviour. She massively fucked up. No. She is a massive fuck-up. That is the one thing she is absolutely sure of.

“What happened? Why are you here?”

What happened? Where is here? Her surroundings spin as it all comes back to her. Her head weighs a ton, a thousand bricks pelting it as pain flashes through her skull. Her vision is black around the edges, and her legs and wrist sting like hell. Every muscle screams, every bone groaning in the effort of holding her together. 

Steve moves toward her, sitting beside her and moving to hold her.

“Don’t touch me.” The words spring out of her mouth in a fashion entirely unlike Natasha’s usually carefully spoken words. She springs to her feet, vision going black for an instant and head spinning even faster. 

Steve holds up his hands, moving to his feet beside her. “Natasha…” 

“Go. Just go.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. But there’s something clearly wrong with you, Nat. And if I can tell, it’s something big. Please talk to me.”

“I can’t...can’t…” Her breaths are coming faster, panic settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Why did Clint leave at four in the morning, six hours after getting here?”

And she is running across the grass, no destination in mind, just running running running. Have to get away from here. Have to get out. 

Out of nowhere, Wanda is before her, red flickering in her eyes. Natasha stops dead in her tracks, eyes widening. “Steve said something was wrong,” Wanda says, barely above a whisper, voice full of concern. “Natasha, I’m here.”

That’s all it takes. Natasha collapses onto Wanda, head falling against the witch’s chest. Wanda’s arms wrap around Natasha, holding her up as Natasha’s full weight slumps against her body, completely drained. She holds her tight as Steve takes one look from hundreds of feet away and then walks off, a sad sort of smile on his features. She holds on tight as Natasha’s body is wracked with silent sobs, as her shoulders heave up and down and tears drip from her cheeks onto Wanda’s chest. 

Wanda is almost frightened. She has never seen Natasha show anything even close to resembling a genuine emotion, only those that have been carefully planned and deemed safe to express. And now the woman cannot even hold herself up as she comes completely undone in Wanda’s arms. It makes something in Wanda’s chest feel warm, while some other part burns in rage at whomever did something awful enough to do this to Natasha. It makes something inside her break as sadness surges through her at seeing Natasha in this state. Strong, badass, perfect Natasha who was now utterly destroyed. 

Natasha cries longer than either of them thought possible. When she at last runs herself dry, she sinks to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands. She is shaking, rocking back and forth uncontrollably. 

Wanda just sits beside her and practically pulls the smaller woman into her lap, wrapping her arms around her and just holding Natasha as she shakes and hyperventilates. She hugs her tight, makes her feel warm and secure. Tries to wordlessly communicate that Natasha is safe with her, that Natasha can let herself go and let her guard down for once. Natasha, once again being completely uncharacteristic, pulls into Wanda’s embrace, trying to completely bury herself, melt into the witch. She is barely more than dead weight in Wanda’s arms as they hold her tight. “I got you,” Wanda whispers into her ear, the witch’s own tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikessssss what even  
comment pls boost my non-existent moral/sense of self worth/help :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is young and vulnerable, despite what she wants to project. Her past is a ghost, never to let her rest. Wanda and Steve just want to help, but are clueless where to even start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating until now! i've been busy with school starting and all  
tw//rape !!

Natasha curled her legs to her chest, warm blankets enveloping her as she dug further into them. She didn’t dare open her eyes; not as the last few weeks came flooding back. The blankets smelled magnificent, perhaps lavender. Smelled like Wanda.

Natasha could feel the girl watching her, felt her weight shifting almost imperceptibly as the witch shifted positions on the bed next to Natasha. Probably sitting. 

She tucked her head against her chest, curled up in a tiny balls, a tangle of arms and legs and red curls. Her head was pounding, legs and wrists aching. Her eyes were probably puffy and swollen. Raccoon, she thought with an invisible smile. Clint always got a kick out of that.

Clint. Shit. Butterflies swarm her chest, heart beating faster and faster. Breathe, Natasha. Breathe. Control. Control yourself for once in your fucking life. She is shaking as she remembers. The night prior. Clint’s anger. How something had definitely been off with him. Gunshots. Budapest. Breathe, Natalia. You are weak and soft. Stop.

And suddenly there is a hand on her shoulder, and before she knows it her hips are pinning someone to the bed, hands in a deathgrip around their neck. This time, they won’t hurt her. 

She remembers. All those times the hands on her shoulders hurt her. Hurt hurt hurt. Hurt her in places hurt shouldn’t be. Rough hands seizing her, grabbing her, pulling her close. Forcing themselves onto her. 

No. No. Forget. Her hands are squeezing, the person under her groaning her name, begging, pleading. Let them beg. They will pay for hurting her, for forcing all those little girls to grow up too young. 

Blinding red flashes before her eyes, still clouded over, barely seeing, as she is thrown backwards. Something crunches as she is slammed into a wall. Probably nothing. Barely even blinking, she is throwing herself at the source of the power, slamming her into body into it. The person grunts, falling backwards onto the floor.

Natasha’s fist slams into the person’s jaw, again and again. Dyed auburn hair, long and beautiful, is strewn under her, blood dripping onto the floor. Natasha blinks, pausing for a moment.

“Nat,” the person under her croaks. “Nat, it’s me.”

Natasha just blinks at Wanda, betraying no emotion. Utter terror is written all over the witch’s face as she prays to a god she has never believed in to make Natasha snap out of whatever has overtaken her. 

Natasha crawls backwards, squeezing herself into a corner, where she pulls her legs up to her chest and stares straight at Wanda, unblinking. It’s quite unnerving. Wanda stands slowly, groaning in pain, and limps into the bathroom. Blood trickles down her cheek, and spectacular purple bruising is starting to form over her jaw. She’s much better off then she thought. She sticks her face under the faucet, letting the cold water run over her injuries.

When Wanda goes back into the bedroom several minutes later, Natasha is still curled in the corner. She hasn’t moved. She looks absolutely terrified, and give no indication of having any idea where she is or who Wanda is. 

Scenes flash before Natasha’s eyes. Gunshots. Steady pattern of bullets hitting a target. The man behind the hood as her bullet hits him dead on. Graduation. Vodka burning her throat. Countless attacks. Dead bodies in her wake. 

“Natasha?” A gentle voice finds its way through the fog in her brain. She blinks slowly, raising her head. 

“Don’t hurt me,” she whimpers, yet making no move to escape or fight back. Waiting for pain. This isn’t the Black Widow that Wanda knows. This is merely a scared little girl, beaten into a ruthless killer through years of abuse. Something changes behind Natasha’s eyes. Acceptance. “I was bad. I deserve the pain.”

“Natasha,” Wanda whispers again, voice cracking. “I would never hurt you.”

Natasha just stares at her, pulling her legs completely closed, closer to her chest. Tears run down Wanda’s cheeks at the subtle movement.

Wanda has no idea what to do. Clint would, but he’s gone. There’s no way he could get here in time. Steve? That didn’t go very well a few hours ago. Bruce is gone. Tony and Pepper are out. She’s on her own. She should probably get Steve, just in case. Although she feels that perhaps a man would not do much good for Natasha in her current state. Hours prior, the widow had fallen apart, sobbed herself dry in the witch’s arms. Now... ? Wanda has no idea.

“FRIDAY?” Wanda calls tentatively, glancing at Natasha. No movement. “Get Steve in here. Now.”

“I have summoned Captain Rogers.”

Within moments, Steve is standing in the doorway, face a mask of concern. Something about the ways his lips are pulled together scares Wanda. He takes in Natasha shaking in the corner, Wanda’s bruised and bloodied face. He raises his eyebrows at Wanda.

“She was fine, and then she woke up and started breathing weird, and so I touched her shoulder, and the next thing I knew she was on top of me and then in the corner and she thinks someone is going to hurt her and Steve I have no idea what to do and I am freaking out and…” 

“Wanda,” Steve says evenly, voice struggling to remain flat. “I need you to calm down. The thing about Natasha, well… I don’t even know that much. None of us do. But you’ve been in her head. You know, at least some. She hasn’t had it easy, and sometimes…” His voice breaks, and he bits his lip for a moment, composing himself. “Sometimes she falls apart. She’s only human, despite what she projects.”

“I just want to help her,” Wanda whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“I know. So do I. She’s never been this bad. But when this happens, sometimes you just have to let her be. I don’t want you getting hurt more.”

“I can see what she is seeing, what she is feeling…” Wanda says tentatively.

Steve widens his eyes, raising his eyebrows. “She would hate it, but maybe that’s our best shot. Are you sure you’re ready to see...to see that?” 

Wanda just bites her lip before nodding. Her eyes flicker red as Steve steps back. Red tendrils dance atop Wanda’s fingers as her eyes widen and she gasps.

Blood. So much blood. She is drowning in an ocean of red. It seeps into her mouth, into her nose, filling her lungs as she sputters, spitting out blood upon blood. It is impossibly heavy, sitting on her shoulders, weighing her down. Bodies float around her, eyes glazed over. As they drift by, they reach out, men and women alike, grabbing for her chest, the space between her legs. They grab her ankles, pulling her down down down down. 

A little girl with flaming hair curled in a ball on the ground as a man stands over her, hitting her for what seems like an eternity, fists slaimming into the girl’s cheeks, feet making contact with ribs. Blood runs down the girl’s cheeks, from her nose. She is naked, and the man grabs her shoulders, pushing her onto her back. The girl goes limp, seemingly knowing what is about to happen. The girl’s thighs are bruised and bloodied as the man pulls them open.

Wanda screams, a sound of pure terror. She is standing back in her bedroom, Natasha still curled in the corner, Steve watching from the doorway. A single tear runs down his cheek as he looks at Wanda.

“Nat…” Wanda whispers, barely able to say her name. She can’t even look at Natasha, knowing what she knows. She knew it was bad. She had seen so much. But that last scene. It is burned onto her eyelids and she knows the same is true of Natasha. 

Wanda crouches in front of Natasha, Steve still watching, speechless. He is terrified. He has never seem Natasha this bad. Sure, there were nights they all heard her scream, and that one day she refused to move from the couch and screamed whenever someone looked at her. The panic attacks. Scars lining her arms they all know are not from fights. He knows flashbacks. Both he and Natasha are so young, even though everyone seems to forget. She is lost in her own mind, her past coming up and drowning her. He suspects that the training with Wanda, the witch getting in Natasha’s head, has something to do with it, and he knows Wanda thinks the same. It hurts him more than words can tell to see his friend in this state.

“You are safe,” Wanda whispers to Natasha, looking right into her eyes. “Please be okay, Natasha. Please come back to us.”

Natasha stares back at Wanda, blinking slowly. She bites her lip so hard blood runs down her chin, raking her nails up and down her arms until dots of blood appear.

Wanda doesn’t want to touch Natasha for fear of setting her off again, yet she doesn’t know what else to do. She can’t bear to watch Natasha hurt herself. “Natasha,” she whispers again, desperate. Gently, ever so slowly, she places her hands on Natasha’s arms.

Natasha ceases her movements, still staring into Wanda’s eyes. A chill goes down Wanda’s spine as those green eyes bore into her soul. 

Steve comes up from behind Wanda and crouches next to her, tears running down his cheeks. “Nat,” he begins, voice breaking. “W-we need you. I know how bad y-you’re hurting. We just want to h-help you. Please, Natasha.”

“Natasha,” Wanda pleads again, sobs wracking her body. She takes a breath, steadying herself. Her words are barely audible, the words hanging in the air between the women. “I love you. I need you.”

Steve just looks between the two women, eyes widening slightly. Wanda catches his eye for a moment, as though daring him to object. He just smiles sadly. 

Wanda pushes herself up next to Natasha, who is blinking faster, chest rising and falling. The witch wraps her arms around the widow, holding her tight, just as she had done under the sunrise. She feels Natasha relax into her arms, and her head falls onto Wanda’s shoulder.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, moving to hastily wipe the tears from his eyes before Natasha can see them. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispers into Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda just holds her, even as Natasha hyperventilates and shakes, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh what's up with clint? next chapter...  
i love that i started this as a slightly angsty wandanat fic and turned into...whatever this is ?  
good times


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Wanda finally have a proper talk about the last few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long!!  
but life is a cunt.

“When you got into my head, you messed with some shit,” Natasha begins, pulling her hair behind her ears. “But you, my god, you.” She pauses, and bites her lip. 

Wanda just nods, gazing at the widow in earnest. 

“You are beautiful. You made me feel things I had thought myself incapable of feeling. The combination of that and the shit you brought up...it was drowning me. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, had to deal with that.” Natasha allows rare vulnerability to seep into her words, clearly anxious.

“Hey,” Wanda whispers, pulling Natasha closer to her as they sit together on a beanbag in Wanda’s room. “Don’t apologise. We all have shit that comes back and bites us in the ass. You are so incredibly strong for coming out of everything you went through. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but it was horrific. But you’re here now, alive, talking to me. You made it out, Natasha. You are stronger than them, stronger than any one of us could ever be.”

Natasha’s lips pull up into a sort of smirk, despite the blush spreading across her cheeks. “You are magnificent,” she whispers to the witch, now pulling her closer. And suddenly her hands on are Wanda’s cheeks, and her lips are on hers, and is it magical. Her head goes fuzzy, a sort of magical warmth spreading through her chest. 

But then Wanda is pulling back, and she is snapped back into the present. 

“We need to talk,” the witch says somewhat apologetically, regret lacing her words. “But goddamnit, Natasha, you are good.”

“I know,” Natasha sighs, putting her head on Wanda’s shoulder. “Just for a minute?”  
“Okay,” Wanda replies, smiling softly. “What happened, Natasha? What really happened. Please be honest with me.”

Natasha is clearly warring with herself, torn between letting her filter down or allowing truth to be no more than a matter of circumstance. “I was taught that love is for children. It is trivial; above all, it is a weakness. The ultimate weakness.

Wanda opens her mouth to contradict her, put closes it quickly, not wanting to interrupt the widow. It is not her place. Lord knows if Natasha would ever be this open with her again if that were to happen.

“Love is a liability. I saw it that way for so long. And even if it were not, in what world am I deserving of it? After all I’ve done, after the damage I’ve caused. I am not deserving of anything as wonderful as love, as happiness.”

It is taking every fiber of Wanda’s being to not contradict Natasha, to assure her that she, more than perhaps anyone, is deserving of happiness. 

“You pissed me off,” Natasha says abruptly, immediately wishing she hadn’t phrased it so bluntly. “Sure, you isolated yourself and were clearly miserable as all hell, but with some people, namely me, you were happy. You had been through hell and were still smiling. Fuck, I was jealous. I wanted that for myself. Didn’t want to admit how freaking adorable I found it. But you kept getting in my head, and that really fucked with me. In no universe should anyone have to see those things. I’m a very private person, and that privacy was invaded. The elusive Natasha Romanoff and the secrets she hides, broken open by a witch who has no idea of the extent of her capabilities.” She pauses and takes a breath, looking toward Wanda as if asking for permission to continue. 

Wanda pulls Natasha closer, wrapping her entire body around the shorter woman. She kisses her gently on the cheek, hoping her actions will convey what she longs to say, but does not have the right words.

“Having those things brought to the very forefront of my memory, the details that have dulled over time painfully sharpened, sent me into a downward spiral. Yet at the same time, I was torn over my feelings regarding you. The things you made me feel. I wasn’t sure if I was capable of real love, only lust. If I’m being honest, I’m still not entirely sure. I think the love will just take some time...That probably makes no sense. So I turned to my training; please someone in an attempt to gain their trust and affection. Make them vulnerable under you in the most intimate way.”

“Natasha…” Wanda whispers, utterly heartbroken.

“But, um…” Natasha stutters here, clearly at a loss for how to phrase her next words. “Making you feel good made me feel good. That’s not something I associated with that type of intimacy. And that just plunged me deeper down, made me despise myself with even greater intensity. My past is brought up the strangest shit,” she spit out with a sour laugh. 

“They...they hurt you,” Wanda whispers, hoping the blunt words she longs to say will be picked up on. Although she desperately wants to say something along the lines of ‘You were a child and they...’ she knows it is not her place.

“They did,” Natasha says simply, something dark flickering behind her eyes. “And they made me hurt other people. The world is a cruel place, little witch. They hurt me, I hurt people, I hurt myself. That’s the fucking monster they made me into.” The fury behind her words is obvious, each word biting with a bitterness that physically hurts Wanda. “I don’t want to talk about this any longer,” she says sharply, moving to leave.

“No, Natasha…” Wanda begins, unsure of how to continue. Her eyes fall for half an instant to Natasha’s forearm, heart clenching, not for the first time, at what she sees. Of course Natasha sees the movement, but just raises her eyes to meet Wanda’s, raising her eyebrows. The widow shakes her head slightly. “We don’t have to talk,” Wanda continues, voice shaking. “But please stay. And for what it’s worth, you are not a monster. You are strong and magnificent and the biggest badass I have ever seen. Or should I say smallest?” she quips with a smirk.

Natasha’s face softens, melting back into Wanda’s arms. “If we’re going to do this,” she whispers, lips grazing Wanda’s ear. “You have to understand that I...I’m not…”

“It’s okay,” Wanda whispers back, lips moving down to Natasha’s neck. “You are nothing less than perfect in my eyes.”

Her lips feel like heaven on Natasha’s skin, and she wants this moment to last forever. It is, by far, the most intimate thing she has ever felt. Heat pools in her chest, yet she has no desire for the moment to turn overtly sexual. She lays her head back on Wanda’s shoulder, letting the witch’s lips work their gentle, perfect, calming magic on Natasha’s neck as the two women melt into each other. This is the closest to peace Natasha has felt in a long, long time. And it is nothing short of heavenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um feedback maybe please?  
:)


End file.
